Mornings

April 10, 2014/

Dear Xander,

This has been part of our morning routine of late: a 2-stop bus ride from the MRT station to your school.

You might not realise it because I always look like I’m distracted by other things when we travel in the mornings, but I do look at you almost all the time, quietly walking with me, trying to keep up behind me, sitting with me on the train or the bus, and sometimes, resting your still-tired self on me.

You make me feel like a dad.

And then there are these moments, when you try to learn about the world around you, taking in the surroundings as they fly by with your eyes as big as you can muster.

You might not notice it, but your innocence infects me, and makes me wonder why I can’t be as accepting of the world as you are right now.

You make me feel like I should be better than who I am now.

When we finally reach your school, before we say goodbye, you’d wipe your mouth thoroughly with your sleeve before puckering up your lips to give me my goodbye kiss. I wrap my arms around you and give you the biggest, tightest hug I can muster. And then we say goodbye for the morning.

You might not know it, but every morning, I give you that hug because when we part ways every morning, it feels like a piece of me is being ripped out of me, and I don’t want to let it go.

I feel like my day has already ended before it has begun.

These mornings are getting fewer, because you’re growing up. You might not realise it, but I cherish every single one of these mornings with you. Every. Single. One.